


One of a Million

by ellbie



Series: Drinking Buddies [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley and Anathema Device are Friends (Good Omens), F/F, Flashbacks, Gen, M/M, Queer Anathema Device
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-06 01:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21218540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellbie/pseuds/ellbie
Summary: Aziraphale looked at her sympathetically. "Your mortality can be a bit of a problem for us.”“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anathema asked, eyes narrowing.“I mean no offense,” he placated, holding his palms out to face her. “It’s just that when we -- that is to say, Crowley and I -- form a human friendship, it’s with the understanding that we’re going to… well... “ He tugged at his shirt sleeve. “We’re going to outlast you, as it were. It’s not easy, Anathema. Particularly not for Crowley.” The angel looked down at his hands and smiled a small, tender smile.“He likes to pretend he’s more hardened than he is, but he’s really quite fond of you humans. It’s one of his biggest failings as a demon. He never liked causing any real harm to anyone. Unfortunately, it means he has a long history of losing friends.”





	1. Chapter 1

_ **Mesopotamia 3004 BC** _

“What have you got there?” Crawley asked with a mischievous grin. He was in a good mood, despite tasting rain in the dusty air.

The child he'd turned his attention to stood up, holding one of a pair of turtles that had been crawling along in the long slow line of animals that marched two-by-two to the distant ark.

She lifted the turtle, who had retreated into its sand-covered shell, up for Crawley to inspect. He leaned forward, sending red, braided curls tumbling over his thin shoulders, and blinked his serpentine eyes at the armored reptile. Sensing a kindred spirit, the turtle cautiously poked its leathery head out ever so slightly and blinked back.

“Very nice,” Crawley admired, “but won’t she miss her friend?”

The child looked at the turtle in her hands. Then down to the turtle that was still on the ground. Then back up at Crawley. 

He could see his reflection in her wide, dark eyes.

Already attached to her new pet, the girl pouted. Crawley matched her frown sportively, and after a miniature battle of wills, the demon's dejected look won out, and the turtle couple was reunited to continue their slow march together.

The demon let his hands fly to the sides of his face. “But you can’t let them go without saying goodbye,” he said in mock alarm.

The girl smiled and they waved after the turtles. Then she ran off to rejoin her friends. About halfway to them, she paused and turned back to wave to Crawley. The demon gave her a little nod before he continuing alongside the line of lumbering beasts.

There had been murmurs in Hell about the great, wooden ship, but nobody knew exactly what it was or what it was for. Crawley, in fact, had been sent to find out, but ended up sleeping late by a few extra days and then immediately wasted another day being distracted by the odd migration animals. It wasn't that he hadn't seen a menagerie of species like this before -- he had paid a visit to the Garden, after all -- but the way they walked, as if summoned to the beckoning herders that funneled them up onto the boat, was new. And only two of each kind, at that. 

_ What will humans think of next, _he wondered as he trudged along. 

There was a gathering of people standing near the huge craft. Most were talking loudly or pointing excitedly at a pair of giraffes that ambled slowly past. A few had turned their faces upwards to glance at the low, rumbling storm clouds that had started to gather. As Crawley got closer, he noticed a tuft of glowing blond hair standing out in the crowd. His eyes brightened. It had been 1000 years since he last saw him, but Crawley had a feeling the angel would know what was going on.

He weaved his way through the throng of onlookers until he was close enough to tap his old adversary on the shoulder.

“Hello, Aziraphale!” Crawley said to him with a delighted smile.

Aziraphale looked flustered. “Crawley,” he greeted in return.

“So, giving the mortals a flaming sword,” the demon ribbed. “How did that work out for you?”

“The Almighty has never actually mentioned it again,” the angel responded, his eyes flitting around nervously.

“Probably a good thing.” He'd spent quite a bit of time over the last millenia watching the aftereffects of the humans' ejection from Eden. Once they were equipped with the knowledge of good and evil, the demon realized it didn't actually take much tempting on his part to get them to choose evil. That, in combination with a large, sharp, celestial, flaming weapon... well.

He still found it quite funny, but, not wanting to rub it in the agitated angel's face, Crawley changed the subject. “What’s all this about? Build a big boat and fill it with a traveling zoo?”

Aziraphale glanced left and right, then leaned in toward Crawley. His voice was low.

“From what I hear, God’s a bit tetchy. Wiping out the human race. Big storm.”

Crawley’s mouth dropped open as he took in the size of the crowd again. And then he remembered the size of the planet.

“All of them?”

“Just the locals.” Aziraphale struggled to conceal the unease in his voice. “I don’t believe the Almighty’s upset with the Chinese. Or the Native Americans. Or the Australians.”

He looked at Crawley hopefully.

“Yet,” came the demon’s curt response.

“And God’s not actually going to wipe out _ all _ the locals,” Aziraphale continued desperately. “I mean, Noah, up there, his family, and his sons, their wives… They’re all going to be fine.”

“But they’re _ drowning _ everybody else?”

There was an increasing level of disgust supplanting the disbelief in Crawley’s voice, and Aziraphale shrank back. He responded with a small, embarrassed nod.

Crawley looked back at group of children he’d passed by moments before. The young girl was laughing and skipping along next to the next pair of animals that caught her eye: a couple of spotted goats.

Crawley’s head whipped back around to face the angel, and his voice was wretched when he spoke.

“Not the kids? You can’t kill kids”

Aziraphale couldn’t meet his eyes. He gave another quick nod.

“Well, that’s more the kind of thing you’d expect my lot to do.”

“Yes, but when it’s done,” Aziraphale went on, “the Almighty’s going to put up a new things called a ‘rain bow’ as a promise not to drown everyone again.”

“How kind,” the demon shot back dryly.

“You can’t judge the Almighty, Crawley. God’s plans are-”

“Are you going to say ‘ineffable’?” One of Crawley’s brows curved in a smug arch over a venomous gaze.

Aziraphale shifted. “Possibly.”

“Oy! Shem!” Crawley called out suddenly, startling the angel. “That unicorn’s going to make a run for it!” He pointed after the fleeing animal.

“Oh, it’s too late.” He let his arm drop, and turned back to Noah’s sons who were still trying to herd the rest of the animals up onto the ship. “It’s too late! Well, you’ve still got one of them!”

Thunder crashed loudly overhead, and a nervous energy passed through the spectators. Crawley and Aziraphale blinked through the first falling raindrops.

When the next flash of lightning cut through the sky, the mass of people began to disperse, slowly at first, and then with more urgency as the rain beat down harder. Crawley snaked his arm through Aziraphale’s to keep from losing him, and tugged him toward the edge of the crowd.

“Where are you going to go?” the demon asked, leaning his head in close as they pushed through the people.

“Away from here,” Aziraphale responded, eyeing the black clouds warily.

The demon looked over his shoulder to where the group of children had begun to separate in search for their parents. The small girl from earlier flinched at the next peal of thunder, which was loud enough that Crowley felt it reverberate deep in his chest. He fixed the angel with an angry stare and dropped his arm.

“Lucky you,” he muttered.

“Crawley, I told you-”

But he'd had already stalked off, letting himself be swept away by the current of pressing bodies, rainwater soaking through his black robes. He knew he needed to return to Hell and report back on the current status of the opposition’s plan, but something he’d just told the angel was stuck on a loop in his head. 

_ That’s more the kind of thing you’d expect my lot to do. _

He shuddered and kept walking, suddenly feeling very empty. If he'd looked back, he would've seen the angel standing alone in the torrent, looking ashamed.


	2. Chapter 2

Anathema grinned as Aziraphale slowly placed another piece of sushi in his mouth. His eyes were closed, and his face was lit up with pure rapture as he chewed. A happy, hedonistic little hum escaped his lips.

“Mmm… scrumptious,” he sighed, finally fixing Anathema with his sparkling blue gaze. “Are you enjoying yours, dear girl?”

Anathema nodded eagerly, smiling through a mouthful of fish. How could she not? The cuts were practically melting in her mouth like butter. Aziraphale beamed and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin before smoothing it back over his lap.

“So, Crowley tells me you’re having company soon!” The angel leaned toward her with an inquisitive smile. “An old friend from America?”

Anathema choked on some rice.

“Oh dear, are you quite alright? Here have some water.” He passed her a glass and watched with concern as she swallowed it down between coughs.

After she recovered, she asked, “What, um… exactly did he say?”

Aziraphale's eyebrows raised a tick. “Nothing, really. Just that I should ask you about your friend that’s coming to visit.”

“That snake,” she muttered, rapping her chopsticks against the side of her plate.

“Pardon?”

Anathema’s gaze snapped to meet the angel’s. She forced her grimace into a thin smile. “Nothing, Aziraphale. It’s just that… nothing’s really…” She paused for a moment trying to think about what she wanted to say, knowing full well that Crowley was going to hear all of this second hand from the angel. “Nothing’s really set in stone yet.”

“Ah, I see.” Aziraphale studied her face, searching for a crack in her false grin. “Anathema, did he do something to upset you? Because you know I will not stand for that.”

Her face quickly softened into a genuine smile. She reached out and squeezed his hand.

“You’re too good to me.”

“Well, someone has to be,” he huffed.

Before she had a chance to respond, Crowley ambled up to their table and slid into the chair next to the angel.

“‘Ello, what’d I miss?”

“Speak of the devil,” Aziraphale said with a glare that sent Crowley shrinking back in his seat, his eyes darting back and forth between the angel and the witch several times behind his sunglasses.

“What? What’d I do?”

“Well, I was just about to get to the bottom of that before you sauntered in, _ late _for dinner-”

Crowley rolled his eyes and cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“I _ told _you I wanted to give you two a chance to catch up.”

“_You told him about Ashley?” _the witch whispered furiously.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Was I not supposed to?”

Anathema dropped her face into her hands such that Crowley and Aziraphale had trouble making out the exact nature of the muffled swears that were tumbling out of her mouth.

“Crowley, if you did something to upset her-”

“I didn’t do anything!” the demon cried out.

“Guys, really, it’s fine,” Anathema mumbled from behind her palms.

“Don’t _ lie _to me, Crowley!”

“I’m _ not lying _, angel,” Crowley hissed.

“Guys!” Anathema shouted.

Both of their heads jerked back to face her. People sitting at the tables nearest them also turned toward them to watch for a moment, before returning their attention to their plates.

She took in a deep breath and smiled at Aziraphale again. “It’s nothing. Just an old… friend. That I haven’t heard from in a while. She reached out to tell me she was taking a trip to London.” She pointed a look at Crowley. “It was completely out of the blue.”

“OK, I _ may _ have encouraged the human to reach out.” He reached for Aziraphale’s wine and took a sip, muttering into the glass, “Just a few harmless nightmares.”

Anathema slammed her hands down onto the table as Aziraphale cried out, “What?!”

Crowley turned to Anathema. “Oh, come off it. You know time zones exist, right? What time would it had to have been in America for her to message you just as you woke up?”

Anathema blinked at him.

“Well, I don’t know either, but she was definitely sleeping. Just woke her up with a _ tiny _dream that made her remember how bad she felt about the whole... uh... erh...” A few more odd noises tripped over his tongue before he trailed off, hunching his shoulders up defensively.

Anathema let out a weary sigh and shook her head. “You are something else Crowley."

Crowley noticed she was trying to hide a smile and relaxed into his chair.

“So…” Aziraphale started tentatively, picking up another piece of sashimi with his chopsticks. “Who’s this friend?” He popped the bite into his mouth.

The witch felt her cheeks burning. "Um. Well..." She dragged her chopsticks through some soy sauce that had dripped on her plate, refusing to make eye contact. She cleared her throat. “When I was in college, I had this roommate-”

“Ashley,” Crowley murmured to Aziraphale.

The angel rolled his eyes and snatched his wineglass back.

“Right. Ashley. And I may have had a… small… um… crush... on her.”

“She was head over heels,” Crowley commented to Aziraphale again, earning him a stern _shush _from the angel.

“I was not!” Anathema cried out, flushing even brighter. 

“Crowley, let the poor girl finish.”

“_Anyway_," she continued before the demon could interject a third time, "I had a crush on her, we kissed once, and I found out later that she only did it to make her ex-boyfriend jealous. And that’s the story.” The look she shot at Crowley could've cooked Aziraphale's sushi. “Unless you have any other comments?”

Crowley pretended to busy himself with grabbing for Aziraphale’s drink again.

“Crowley, dear, _ kindly _ get your own. The server will be back with us in a moment.” Then he looked back at Anathema. “Dear girl, that is awful, I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

“Yeah, well, it was years ago,” she muttered into her water.

Their table went quiet after that, aside from the sound of ice clinking in Anathema's glass. Crowley absentmindedly thumbed through a menu.

“Seemed like you were happy to get an apology,” he sniffed finally.

“I was until I found out you've told half of London.”

Aziraphale winced. “Do you think you’ll try to see her when she’s here?” he asked cautiously, doing his best to lean away from the metaphorical daggers that were shooting back and forth across the table.

“I’m not sure yet…”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up again and he tossed the menu aside. “What do you mean you’re ‘_not sure_’?” 

“I don’t know, it just feels a little disingenuous. She wouldn’t have even reached out if you hadn’t made her.”

“Believe me, Book Girl, I didn’t _make_ her do anything. I barely planted the seed of suggestion," he crossed one leg over the other and sat back smugly. "She wanted to see you again.”

Anathema rolled her eyes. “Right. Because you’re clearly an expert on what women want.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Crowley asked, as insulted as if she'd not expected him to know the result of 2+2. “I’ve been a woman before!”

A few more patrons turned to look at their table.

“Wait…” Anathema slammed on the breaks, threw her brain in reverse, and decided replay that sentence one more time. “Wait-wait-wait! _What_?”

Crowley shrugged. “Rather, more of a ‘womanly-shaped person,’ but I don’t think most humans really cared about the difference.”

Anathema pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. It was silly to be surprised by anything the pair told her anymore.

“Oh, do you remember Golgotha?” Aziraphale piped up, happy for the change of topic. “You looked quite stunning then.”

Crowley shot him a bewildered and somewhat horrified look and shook his head slightly, indicating that the angel should stop talking. 

Aziraphale brought his hand to his mouth. “Oh, quite right. Very sad situation. Shouldn’t make light of it.” He murmured as he took another sip of his drink, “You did look lovely, though.”

“So you just… transform?” Anathema eyes scanned Crowley up and down, and he folded his arms protectively in front of his chest.

“Oh, you should’ve seen Crowley in the 1920s.” Aziraphale’s eyes seemed to glaze over.

“Well, women’s suffrage and all that. Seemed like a good time for it.”

The angel snapped out of it.

“_Please._ You just loved the dresses.”

The demon raised his finger to protest but gave up halfway through the gesture and let his hand drop. “Eh, fair ‘nuff.”

“But…” Anathema's brain was not getting a break today. In the absence of daily puzzling over Agnes's prophecies, it was honestly appreciative of the extra work it had to put in. “You just… But then… Do you even _ have _ a gender?" Her eyes flicked down for a moment. "Or a... Erm."

She and Crowley both blushed and looked away from each other.

“Even in our corporeal form,” Aziraphale jumped in, “we’re not human. Crowley’s right: we’re just roughly human shaped. Just enough to blend in, I suppose.”

Anathema’s head leaned to the side. “Huh,” was all she could come up with. She was suddenly feeling quite tired.

“Made it easier to get hired as a nanny, too,” Crowley pointed out.

“Oh yes, and young Warlock was ever so fond of you.”

Anathema leaned toward the angel, studying him. “You too? Have you ever..?”

She stopped mid-question when Crowley waved down the server, who approached with a check. He downed the rest of Aziraphale’s wine, despite the angel’s protests, and handed over a heavy, metal credit card. It was matte black, very impressive looking, and not tied to any actual bank. Luckily, the card reader couldn’t tell.

“I need a proper drink,” Crowley said a moment later as he scribbled a signature on the receipt. “Back to the bookshop, shall we?”

* * *

Back at the bookshop, Anathema settled into the couch with a heavy wool blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She listened to the floorboards creak as Aziraphale puttered around the kitchen fixing tea. Crowley sipped a glass of wine in the chair across from her.

“Sorry I told the angel about your… friend,” he muttered awkwardly.

“It’s... fine. Really. I just think you’re expecting more to happen here than what’s actually going to happen.”

“What can I say, Book Girl?” He let his hand dance through the air theatrically. “I’m a whore for the drama.”

“Gee, thanks.” She rolled her eyes.

“Anathema, I’m joking. Doesn’t hurt to just catch up with an old friend. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I humiliate myself again,” she said grimly.

“Who cares? She’s only one human. There’s a whole planet full of others you haven’t embarrassed yourself in front of yet.”

Anathema pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and yawned. “You say it like it’s easy.” Anathema looked down at her knees. Then she looked back up at him with a sleepy smile. “Besides, you lucked out. There was only one other person on this planet that could’ve been your soulmate," She let her eyes droop shut as she snuggled further into the cozy tartan. "And you met him on day one.”

If Anathema had managed to stay awake for a few moments longer, she would've sensed the demon's aura shift suddenly. Crowley watched her breathing even out and then turned to stare out the window, a deep frown settling into his face.

* * *

Aziraphale re-entered the back room with a tray full of steaming mugs of chamomile and saw that Anathema was already snoring lightly on the couch.

"Oh, poor dear. She must be exhausted." He tapped her shoulder lightly, and she blinked the sleep out of her eyes until her vision focused on him. He snapped his fingers quietly as he spoke. “The bed’s all made up, and there are some pajamas out for you."

She smiled sleepily at the angel. “Thanks," she murmured. "I’ll see you both in the morning before I head back to the train?”

Aziraphale nodded emphatically while Crowley let out a grunt and waved her off.

“Sweet dreams, you two,” she said before lumbering up the stairs.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Crowley snapped his fingers.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

Crowley looked up at him. “What?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips.

“Oh nothing, angel. Just an extra blanket for the bed. She was cold earlier.”

Crowley also shivered a bit. The bookshop was a bit drafty.

Aziraphale walked over to the couch where Anathema had been curled up and picked up the wool blanket she’d left spilling onto the floor. He returned to Crowley and wrapped it around his shoulders. The demon slouched back into his seat, burrowing into the warm fabric.

“You know, it wouldn’t be so cold in here if you got these windows replaced.” He looked around the room. “Or miracled in an HVAC.”

Aziraphale tutted. “I like the shop the way it is, dear boy.” 

Crowley’s eyes were half lidded when he pulled his sunglasses off and tossed them onto the coffee table in front of him. The chill had him feeling sluggish, and now Aziraphale’s toasty afghan was threatening to put him to sleep.

Aziraphale sat on the couch to face him, and folded his hands delicately on his lap.

“Why did you reach out to Anathema’s friend?”

Crowley rolled his eyes and yawned. “I already said, I barely did anything. The girl _ wanted _ to see Anathema again.”

“I see.” Aziraphale was thoughtful for a moment. “But then, I suppose if she _had _wanted to reach out on her own, she would have.”

“Seriously? You’re going to give me guff for this?”

Aziraphale just watched him.

“Oh, and what’s _ that _look supposed to be?” he snapped.

Aziraphale kept watching.

Crowley snaked up out of the blanket and throwing the arm that wasn't holding his wineglass into the air with a dramatic sigh.

“Angel, she’s gotta go back to America at some point. She might as well have someone to go back to.”

Crowley flopped back into the chair, wrapping the blanket tightly back around himself, like soft, protective walls around his body.

“I just want you to be careful,” the angel said gently, “for your sake and for hers.”

Crowley waved the concern away with a slender hand but still wouldn’t look at the angel.

“You already know how this will end, Crowley. And you’ve seen what can happen when we interfere.”

Crowley’s jaw clenched imperceptibly. Then he let out a weary sigh. “Yeah, yeah, angel. I know.”

Aziraphale left him alone in the back room after that, instead venturing to the front of the store to rearrange some of the bookshelves.

With the blanket wrapped warmly around him, Crowley spent the rest of the night and the first few early hours of the morning swirling the wine in his glass, staring off into space, and trying to ignore the uncomfortable tightness that was pressing on his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

_ **Jerusalem, 33 AD** _

Crowley and Aziraphale had been standing in the crowd for hours, squinting in the sunlight, tight-lipped and grim. A row of 3 wooden crosses were erected in front of them. A woman at the foot of the middle cross had been looking up at the suspended man’s face with haunted eyes. Crowley watched as she finally permitted her shoulders to droop and her head to fall. It was over. Tugging her headscarf to cover her face, she turned and began to walk away.

Without a word to Aziraphale, Crowley snaked through the crowd after her. 

She was walking determinedly away from the dwindling group of people and didn’t look up when Crowley appeared at her side.

“You knew him well?” he asked, matching her pace.

The woman didn’t respond.

“Aren’t you the one from Magdala? You were one of his biggest donors, I heard.”

“Please leave me alone,” she said with a withering tone.

“Miriam, right?”

She snapped her head around.

“Listen, I don’t know who you are, but-” 

The words caught in her throat when her eyes met his.

An intense, yellow gaze was framed by waves of auburn hair and a flowing black sheila. Miriam’s glare softened as it flicked up and down Crowley’s form, which was draped in a matching abaya cinched gently at the waist.

“Who are you?” she asked breathlessly. She’d stopped walking and just stood there regarding the tall, thin woman in front of her.

“I met him a few years ago,” Crowley said gently. “I, erh, just recently learned about... all this.” He gestured vaguely back in the direction of the crucified bodies.

The serpentine eyes, wide and unblinking, bored into her. They seemed to be swaying, albeit nearly imperceptibly, in a hypnotic rhythm... back and forth... 

Miriam’s eyes fluttered and she shook her head, escaping the trance.

Crowley’s head tilted to the side. “You look like you could use a drink.” 

* * *

Later the two were sitting in Crowley’s private lodging at the edge of the city. Miriam didn’t look up from her wine.

“We should’ve never left Galilee,” she muttered. “I should’ve _ told _him it wasn’t safe to be here.”

Crowley sipped his drink and watched her as she spoke. His eyes were glittering with the low, golden light of the oil lamps.

“He was a stubborn one,” Crowley said with a small smile. “He wouldn’t have listened.”

“Such was his faith.”

A sad lull fell over them.

“Where will you go?” he asked her, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll at least be here until the rest of the disciples come out of hiding so that we can bury him.” 

She coughed to conceal a small cry that forced its way up her throat and brought her hand to her eyes to wipe away the new tears that were beginning to spill down her cheeks. Drawing in a sharp breath, she collected herself. “What about you?”

Crowley drew his shoulders up in a half-shrug. “I’m heading west,” he said vaguely. “I’ve had my fill of faith for a while.”

Miriam fixed him with a deep stare. Crowley met it.

“You could stay with us, you know. Most of the men fled, but they’ll be back. We can continue spreading the Word.”

The demon knew what he was supposed to say to her. He was supposed to convince her to run, to go into hiding, to forget about the preachings of the Nazarene who had treated her as his closest confidant. Hell had focused a keen interest on this woman for the better part of a decade as the news of the Messiah had spread through the region, and now he knew why: pouring out from her eyes was the same quiet resolve that he’d seen years ago when he’d been sent to convince Jesus to give up preaching. 

_ Let me show you all the kingdoms of the world... _

This woman was as strong and fearless as Jesus had been, more hardened than the rest of the disciples that had fled after their savior had been arrested. Despite all the precariously perched dominoes Heaven and Hell had arranged around her life, she marched forward to meet her uncertain fate stoically. 

Shamelessly.

Crowley shook his head at her. “Just be careful. And look after his mother.”

Miriam nodded and set her cup down, then stood to leave. “I should go before it gets too dark. Thank you for this.” She paused once in the doorway, and turned back to the dark figure that was sitting cross-legged on the ground. "Try not to despair. He wouldn't have wanted us to waste our time mourning. And if you change your mind, I trust you'll be able to find me." Then she walked out.

Once the Magdalene was out of earshot, the demon let a string of curses fly, all directed at God, Heaven, and the angels, especially Aziraphale, who had stood there again and done nothing.

_ I’m not consulted on policy decisions, _ he’d said.

Crowley downed the rest of his wine and dragged the back of his arm across his mouth to wipe away the red stains. Then he curled up on the mat in the corner of the room and fell into a fitful sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

The following morning, Anathema got dressed, combed her fingers through her hair, and stared at the reflection of her tired eyes in the small bathroom mirror. She considered for a moment asking Aziraphale to miracle her makeup back on her face, then realized she’d be better off asking Crowley and wandered sleepily down to the shop, pulling her soft brown waves up into a bun as she went.

“Good morning, my dear!” Aziraphale called out happily from the couch where he’d been reading.

“‘Mornin’.” She yawned and rubbed her eyes against the morning light that was just starting to filter in through the drafty windows. “Crowley still here?”

Aziraphale shifted slightly. “I’m afraid he left already.”

“Oh.” That stung a bit. “I hope he doesn’t think I’m mad at him.”

A sympathetic smile pulled at the angel’s mouth, and he patted the seat next to him on the couch. The witch approached slowly and sank down into the soft cushion. Aziraphale was fidgeting, and as much as she tried to catch his gaze, he seemed to be too focused on any number of things just behind her head to be able to meet her eyes.

She couldn’t help but feel like she was a pre-teen about to get  _ The Talk _ from a parent. Although, her version of  _ The Talk _ had been a bit unusual, since her some of her sexual escapades had already been documented -- and, in the annotations of certain family members,  _ lauded _ \-- by Agnes Nutter. 

“My dear,” Aziraphale started delicately, “I think Crowley’s perhaps not been entirely honest with you.”

Anathema arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing to fret over.” The reply came too quick to not sound nervous. He cleared his throat, ever awkward. “You know that Crowley and I have been around since humanity began, right?”

Anathema nodded warily.

“During that time, our sides… er, Heaven and Hell… well, they tasked us with inserting ourselves into certain human affairs. As you know.” 

Anathema frowned. She did know. The angel and the demon usually delighted in telling her about their adventures on Earth. She thought about the little notebook full of stories tucked away in her bag...

“But sometimes during our various assignments, we’d end up on friendly terms with our intended targets. Or even just the bystanders. Really, it’s hard  _ not _ to grow attached to you, if I’m being perfectly honest. You’re an interesting and rather  _ lovely _ species.” 

He’d settled his gaze on the backs of his hands, and snuck a furtive glance at Anathema, who he noticed was starting to look quite uneasy.

He changed tack.

“Do you know the collection of first edition Wilde’s that I have locked in a case in the back? The ones I won’t let you read?” Aziraphale waited patiently until Anathema gave him a small nod. “Oscar was very dear to me.” The angel paused and adjusted his bowtie. “Sadly, those are the only souvenirs from our time together... They’re all I have left.” 

Anathema held her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Aziraphale was just as bad at conveying subtext as he was in picking up on it. When he became concerned that her breathing wasn’t going to restart on its own, he gave up and decided on the direct approach. 

“I’m afraid your mortality can be a bit of a problem for us, my dear.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked defensively, her brown eyes narrowing.

“I mean no offense,” Aziraphale said, holding his palms out to face her placatingly before he dropped them back to his knees. “It’s just that when we -- that is to say,  _ Crowley and I _ \-- form a human friendship, it’s with the understanding that we’re going to… well... “ He tugged at his shirt sleeve. “We’re going to  _ outlast  _ you, as it were. It’s not easy, Anathema. Particularly not for Crowley.” The angel looked down at his hands and smiled a sad, tender smile. “He likes to pretend he’s more hardened than he is, but he’s really quite fond of you humans. It’s one of his biggest failings as a demon, and it’s the reason why most of the memos he sent back to Hell were entirely fabricated. He never liked causing any real harm to anyone. Sure he’d steal credit for things now and again to keep up appearances, but beyond that…” Aziraphale sighed. “Unfortunately, it means he has a long history of dealing with the grief of losing friends. Sometimes he starts... pulling back. He’d say it’s just to protect you, but it’s also to protect himself. I’ve been guilty of it too, I’m afraid.”

Anathema’s eyes slowly widened. “Are you saying you don’t want me to come around anymore?”

“Oh, no, no, no! Not at all!” He smiled soothingly. “You’re a joy to have around, my dear, and that’s more than enough for me. You’ll just need to be a bit patient with Crowley. Being a demon and all, he’s got a problem with -- oh, how to put it? -- abandonment issues?”

Anathema face-palmed. “Did he set this whole thing with Ashley up so that I’d start spending time with her instead of you two?”

Aziraphale looked embarrassed. “Well, that may have been  _ part  _ of it…”

Her wounded look cut straight to his heart, and his face fell.

She turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears welling up in her eyes and didn’t look at him when she felt his hand gently touch her shoulder.

“You’re not in any rush to get back to Tadfield, are you?”

Still averting her gaze, she gave her head a weak shake.

“Well then,” he said, his voice brightening, “I’ll put the kettle on, and you get settled out here. That brunch spot we like just opened, and I can order us some delivery.”

Anathema considered this. “They don’t open for another two hours, I thought.”

Aziraphale winked. “Must’ve been a special occasion.”

“Aziraphale, it’s OK… really. I can just leave.”

The angel deflated a bit. He rummaged through his coat pocket for his tartan handkerchief.

“Well, I certainly won’t make you stay,” he said, offering her the handkerchief. “Although I am a  _ bit  _ offended that I had to hear about Ashley secondhand. Surely you know by now that demons are all a bunch of tawdry gossips that can’t be trusted with any sort sensitive information.”

She dabbed at her eyes and smiled at him in spite of herself.

“And I suppose if you’d like to grab your journal, I would be amenable to your chronicling of some of my dallying with the late Mister Wilde.”

A broad grin overtook Anathema’s face. “Actually, I’m pretty stuck on this whole idea of you and Crowley having been women.”

Aziraphale laughed as he took his handkerchief back from her. “I assure you, my dear, that was  _ not  _ the case when I knew Oscar.”


	5. Chapter 5

_ **Milan, 1500 AD** _

Crowley frowned up at the mural.

“You know they didn’t actually look like that, right?”

He was standing -- or, rather, hopping from side to side -- in a bright refectory, trying to ignore the young priest that was sidling over. Sunlight pooled around the room, reflecting off the white walls and setting the demon’s red hair aflame before being absorbed, as if by a black hole, into Crowley’s expensive and solidly black clothing.

The priest tilted his head curiously at Crowley’s shuffling, causing the demon to pull his dark glasses down and shoot him and angry, sideways glare.

“Madonna santa!” the priest gasped. He made a quick sign of the cross and shuffled away.

The man next to Crowley chuckled. “I’m sorry to tell you, my friend, but the Duke doesn’t seem to have a problem with how they look. And he’s the one paying.”

“Even still, I don’t know why everyone’s so focused on the men he kept company with,” Crowley continued, cocking his head to the side as he studied the painting's main subject. “It was the women that had the more interesting stories.”

“So you’ve told me! I can think of a few possible reasons, though.” The artist winked at him. “Just none I should say out loud. At least not here.”

Crowley kept frowning, hopping clumsily all the while.

“_Amico _ , I appreciate that you travelled all this way, but I’d hoped you’d have at least one _ nice _ thing to say about the painting…“

His hurt frown dragged down into his beard.

Crowley pouted mockingly at him before flashing a cheeky grin. He jumped to stand on one foot. “Leo, it’s lovely. You don’t need me to tell you that.”

“This is true. But it’s still nice to hear you say it.”

They returned their gazes to the mural, which spread impressively across nearly 30 feet of the stone wall above them. Crowley let out a quiet hiss and switched to stand on his other foot again with another conspicuous hop.

“But why’ve you got them all on _one_ side of the table?”

“My friend,” Leonardo eyed him sideways. “Why are you dancing around like that?”

“S’the Catholics,” Crowley muttered. “They make me nervous.”

The painter laughed and clapped Crowley on the back, his eyes twinkling impishly. “Come! Let’s go somewhere more irreverent.”

Crowley gritted his teeth and hopped gingerly out of the convent, following closely behind da Vinci.

Several hours later, with the sting of the consecrated halls of the Santa Maria della Grazie behind them, the pair stumbled out of a café, reeking of wine. The sun had only just slipped behind the tops of the buildings, but the area was fairly empty, with only a few couples strolling quietly toward the town center.

They rounded a corner, and their drunken laughs echoed off the buildings.

“Be sure to write th’next time you paint somethin’ less...” Crowley’s hand swirled through the warm summer air, reaching for the word. “...Less _holy. _Not that I don’t love your weird, pale interpretation of Christ and his friends.” His smile was wry and sharp, and he swayed a bit. “‘M sure Heaven gets a kick out of it too.”

Leonardo, who was just as drunk as Crowley, flung his head back and cackled up at the darkening sky. Crowley reached out and grabbed his arm before the momentum sent the man spilling backwards into the street. They stood like that, laughing together, until Leonardo pulled back, wiping tears from his eyes.

“You fiend! You’ve got me laughing in the face of God. It’s a wonder I haven’t been struck down by the angels yet.”

Crowley smiled at him fondly, his eyes glittering behind dark glasses. “Nah, you know I wouldn’t let them come near you.”

The man chuckled again, quietly now. “Are you sure you need to leave so soon? You know you’re always welcome to stay with me.”

Crowley looked down at his feet. “As tempting as that sounds," he mumbled, "‘m afraid I’m due back for... erh… work.”

“Very good, my friend.” Leonardo looked slightly disappointed, but smiled nonetheless. “Until I see you again.”

He reached out to clasp Crowley’s arms just above the elbows and planted a kiss on each of Crowley’s cheeks, tilting his head just so that he didn't press Crowley's glasses into his face but letting his lips linger long enough that the demon blushed and stiffened and flitted his eyes around to check that they were alone.

A small whine crept up Crowley's throat, but he swallowed it back down. When he saw their corner of the street had emptied, he let his eyes fall shut and embraced his companion in return, placing a soft kiss on his cheek as he whispered, “_Ciao, _Leo. Until next time.”


	6. Chapter 6

When she arrived back at Jasmine Cottage, Anathema tossed her bag unceremoniously onto the table where it promptly tipped over, spilling its contents onto the floor. She groaned and stooped to pick up her keys, her wallet, a pen… and a notebook. 

She felt her eyes water a bit, then shook it off, shoved everything back in her bag, and poured herself a glass of wine from a bottle she’d left sitting on the counter.

The night had fallen deep and dark outside, turning her kitchen window into a starry, black mirror. 

“So what if he’s pawning me off?” she asked the wavering reflection. “We’ve been friends for a few months, and now he’s friend-breaking-up with me. Who cares?”

She huffed into her living room and sat on a chair, grumpily sloshing wine in her glass. 

“Besides, I’ve still got Aziraphale,” she boasted to herself. “At least Aziraphale has the decency to be honest with me. At least _ Aziraphale _ isn’t trying to get rid of me.” She frowned, and pulled her phone out of a deep pocket in her skirt. She stared at the empty screen for a moment, before shoving it back away. 

Her knee jiggled anxiously as she swallowed a gulp of red.

_ Anathema, do not touch your phone. You are strong. You’ve got this. _

After a few minutes of internal arguing, she snatched her phone again. She began scrolling through her contacts and, upon selecting the one she wanted, she started typing furiously, fingernails softly clacking against the glass screen. With an irritated sigh, she sent the message, let her eyes fall shut, and leaned back in her chair.

_ See? This is fine. I’m totally fine. _

A moment later she shot her phone another weary look.

_ Don’t do it. _

She took another gulp of wine.

_ Do _ not _ do it. _

She chewed her lip, groaned, and finally dialed Crowley.

It rang.

And rang again.

And kept ringing.

_ “Hi, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style.” _

She waited for the beep.

“Hey Antho… Er, Crowley.” She silently mouthed ‘fuck_ ’ _and continued, “It’s Anathema. I... uh, wanted you to know that I just messaged Ashley back.” 

She considered everything she wanted to say next.

_Will you talk to me now?__  
_ _Will you stop acting so weird?_

_ Aziraphale is amazing, but hanging out without you doesn’t feel right. And you’re the only one in this country that gets me. _

She worried that her message would get cut off and scrambled for something to keep the one-sided conversation going.

“Thanks for getting her to reach out.”

_ See? It’s not that hard to be diplomatic, you stupid demon. _

“And hey, At least I’m getting a free drink out of it. Maybe if you and Aziraphale are free, we could all meet up for dinner.” 

_ Don’t sound too desperate. _

“Or, y’know, I’ll ruin it at drinks, Ashley won’t ever speak to me again, and just the three of us can grab dinner!” 

_ Fuck. _

“Anyway, I’d like to see you again soon. To talk. But only if you want.” She tugged nervously at a strand of hair that had fallen in her face. ”I know you might need some space, and I can respect that. You… uh... know how to get a hold of me. When you’re ready.”

She hung up.

“Ok, that could’ve gone better,” she said to no one.

After drinking the last bit of wine, she looked around her empty home, let her head fall into her hands, and started to cry.

* * *

Back at his flat, Crowley was pacing sullenly back and forth in front of his original sketch of the Mona Lisa which hung on his wall, concealing his hidden safe behind a gentle, placid smile. Her calm eyes seemed to follow him as he sulked, and in a flash of anger, he spun on his heel to face her. His eyes had been trained on hers but slowly traveled down until they reached the inscription. 

He read the words for the thousandth time: _ Al mio amico Antonio, dal tuo amico Leo da V. _

With a sneer, he stalked toward his plant room. The greenery had already begun to tremble even before he passed the threshold and snatched up the mister. He circled the room, looking for a victim.

“If I find a single leaf spot on any one of you, so help me Satan…”

He felt his phone buzzing in his pocket and ignored it to angrily mist water at the leaves. A minute later, it buzzed once more to indicate someone had left a voicemail.

An annoyed groan caused all the plants to stand up even straighter, and he snatched his phone out of his pocket and played the message.

_ Hey Antho… Er, Crowley… It’s Anathema... _

He immediately dialed her back.

Crowley could hear sniffling when she answered with a hoarse “H-hello?”

“What did that bloody angel tell you?”

“What?”

“Aziraphale. What did he say?”

“Wha- Huh? Did you listen to my voicemail?”

There was a pause.

“...No.”

Anathema didn’t respond, and Crowley almost pulled the phone away from his ear to check if they’d been disconnected. Then he heard her laughing. 

“Would you like me to repeat it for you?” she asked through the burst of giggling. “Or would you like to continue yelling about whatever you were yelling about?”

Crowley set the mister down and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry. Nope. You go. M’bad.”

Anathema’s voice sobered. “Aziraphale did talk to me about something,” she admitted. “He just told me you might need some space… away from me.”

Crowley let out a weary sigh. “What makes him think that?”

“He said that you get sad when your human friends die.”

The demon held the phone at arm's length to grit out an annoyed "bloody _Heaven_" so that Anathema wouldn't hear. “Book Girl, listen… It’s… er… complicated… Not because of anything you did…”

“Oh my god, you _ are _ friend-breaking up with me,” she cried out, sounding miserable.

“I’m not… no... what? Anyway, listen. The point is, it’s…”

Crowley would freely admit with an air of smugness that reading just wasn’t his style. He preferred to consume the arts in fiery bursts of action movies and long binges of The Golden Girls. Unfortunately, this meant that he had trouble articulating the complex torrent of feelings that were dredged up and swirled about whenever he was forced to think about... _that._ Namely, the humans he'd been stupid enough to take a shine to. Gotta hand it to the Almighty to create some really wonderful, beautiful, lovely people, knowing full-well they'd end up mortal.

And it wasn't even the dying that was particularly bad. Well, _ some _ of the deaths he would’ve loved to swap with a nice, easy, _ died-in-their-sleep _ alternative, but overall, the actual human-soul-leaving-its-earthly form thing wasn’t particularly difficult for him to deal with. Instead, it was what was left behind. The memories, the stories, the photographs, the books, the artwork, the letters... All a constant reminder of that missing piece that would never be filled again. 

After 6000 years on the planet, Crowley felt like he had a lot of pieces missing.

“...It’s complicated.”

The line was quiet again until Anathema cleared her throat. “Well… what do you need from me?”

Crowley was caught off guard. He couldn’t remember anyone asking him that before. At least not in this specific context. He pushed his hand through his hair.

“Erh… I guess… Ehh… Lemme call you back.”

He heard the tiny squeak of an “OK” before he hung up.

* * *

It was quite late at the bookshop when the landline rang. Aziraphale tutted and snatched up the receiver. 

“Apologies, but we are currently clos-“

“It’s me, angel.”

Aziraphale brightened. “Ah, Crowley! How are you?”

“What _ exactly _did you and the witch talk about?”

The angel bristled. “Well, certainly nothing that I’d think would earn me your current tone.”

You could hear Crowley’s eyes roll into the back of his head over the phone line.

“Angel, she told me she wanted to give me ‘space’ and asked what I needed from her. What the Heaven is that all about? Because it sounds like some lovey-dovey rubbish someone from your lot would put in her head.”

Aziraphale twirled the phone cord around his finger. “Well, I think it’s rather nice that she’s looking out for you.”

“I don’t _ need _ someone looking after me.”

“Crowley, she’s your friend.“

“She’s a _ human, _Aziraphale. You said it yourself. We shouldn’t get involved.”

“My dear, I said we shouldn’t _ interfere _. We’ve spent 6000 years carrying out orders that landed us right in the middle of their lives to sway them one way or the other, instead of just letting them determine their own path.”

“Yes, but-“

“_ But _ we’ve both formed plenty of friendships with humans that have been incredibly worthwhile, and they’ve begun organically. Outside of our respective jobs.”

“Yes, but-“

“_ And in those cases _, I’ve found that both parties tend to find the relationship to be mutually beneficial.”

When Crowley didn’t interrupt again, Aziraphale wondered if he’d hung up. 

“Hello? Crowley?”

The bite had left the demon’s voice when he spoke. “What do you mean ‘_ both _parties’?”

“I mean exactly what I said: _ both _parties can benefit from our friendship.”

“But what benefit do you actually get out of it? Afterward, I mean.”

“Crowley, I’m not entirely sure what you’re getting at…”

“After they’re _ gone _ , you bloody idiot. Humans have that nasty habit of _ dying _on us.”

Aziraphale chewed his lip. “Well, yes, I suppose they do.”

“And I’m the reason they’re mortal. The whole, y’know…” He swallowed. “...’Eat the Apple’ business.”

Crowley waited anxiously for Aziraphale to say something, but the angel just sighed.

“My dear, we’ve had this conversation before. Hundreds of times now. I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for another drunken argument about the Great Plan.”

“I’m not drunk,” Crowley muttered defensively.

“Crowley, it’s your choice if you want to maintain friendships with the humans. I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to, but I would ask that you at least be honest with Anathema. She’s a lovely woman and she’s had her life upended because of decisions we _ both _made a long time ago.”

Aziraphale took in a breath and quietly added, “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think she faults either of us for it.”

Crowley was silent for a long time. So long, that Aziraphale started tapping on the receiver at his end of the call.

“My dear? Are you still there?”

“Hmm..? Oh yeah... Angel, I’ve gotta go.”

He ended the call.

* * *

Anathema was in bed when her phone, which she’d been clutching in her hand since before she fell asleep, started to ring.

Her head jerked up at the sound, and she blinked her sleep-blurred eyes at the screen before sitting up and answering.

“Crowley?”

“Book Girl. You sound sick.”

“It’s 2 a.m. I was sleeping.”

“Oh.”

Anathema waited, and so did the demon.

“What do you want, Crowley?”

She listened as his exhausted sigh slowly formed into a sentence.

“Eh, earlier you asked what I needed from you.”

“I did.” Anathema agreed, albeit warily. She drew her comforter up around her.

“Do you… erh… why are you still spending time with me and Aziraphale?”

Anathema raised an eyebrow. “Because the two of you are probably the most interesting people in London. And I don’t have any other friends here.” Sleepily, she wondered where this was going.

“And the more you learn about us… you’re not at all put out that I’m a _ literal _ demon that is _ literally _responsible for the Original Sin?”

Ah, now she knew.

“Are you doing that thing where you get philosophical when you’re drunk? I saw you and Aziraphale have this argument before, and it’s kinda late for it right now…”

“Anathema. Please.”

She sobered instantly.

“If it wasn’t for choices the angel and I made 6000 years ago, your life could’ve been so different.”

“I mean, maybe. Different isn’t always better, though.”

“Sure. But what if it _ was _ better.”

“Well, I don’t know. I guess I’d be sound asleep right now and not having this conversation.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I!” she said, her voice rising. “Crowley, it takes too much energy to think about all the billion ways things could’ve been different, and I’m _ tired. _ This life’s all I have. It’s easier to just live it right now.”

Silence. Crowley thought about every moment over the last few months where their little band of Apocalypse survivors had dined, drank, talked, cried...

“We’re a miserable lot, Aziraphale and me. We shouldn’t be the only people in your life right now.”

“I’m not going to sit here and stroke your ego, Crowley. I _ will _say I don’t think you’re miserable, and I don’t think Aziraphale is either. I enjoy spending time with you, and I’d appreciate it if you let me decide for myself who my friends are.” Crowley remained quiet, and she softened a bit. “Listen, I’m sorry you feel like you’re the reason you lose your friends. But humans lose people all the time. I get it… in a way.”

When she didn’t get a response, Anathema anxiously pulled on a wisp of hair. “Can we just skip to the part where you decide to blame God for all of it and get back to normal?”

“I don’t know if I really do blame God,” Crowley finally said.

“Well, I do, if it helps.”

“You’re still going to die one day.”

“Jesus, Crowley, I _ know. _Doesn’t mean I like being reminded about it all the time.”

Crowley winced. “Sorry.”

There was another long pause.

“What am I supposed to do when that happens, though?” he asked.

Anathema sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe you and Aziraphale can fight over who gets to keep _ The Nice and Accurate Prophecies _. Assuming I haven’t given it away to someone who doesn’t keep me up at all hours of the morning.”

Crowley didn’t laugh, and Anathema felt her patience waning.

“Crowley… I don’t know. Honestly. If you and Aziraphale have had this many friendships and… uh…. whatever-other-kinds-of-relationships throughout the millennia, then you must be getting something positive out of it… right?”

More silence.

Anathema gave up.

“Hon, I need to get to sleep. Call Aziraphale. He’s awake.”

She ended the call and immediately slipped back into a familiar dream: _ She was at the Ritz with Ashley, Aziraphale, and Crowley. Ashley was holding her hand under the table, and Crowley was winking at her. _

A dark shadow slithered out from under her bed and silently slipped out of the bedroom.

* * *

In Soho, an antique phone rang for the second time in the early hours of the morning.

“We are absolutely closed for business!” Aziraphale cried into the receiver. “Do you have any idea what time it i-“

“Me again, angel.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I’m coming over.”

Aziraphale’s line went dead before he could respond.

45 minutes later, the angel was still sitting on his couch, reading. Or at least he was trying to read. His focus kept getting disturbed by a rather agitated demon that was gesturing and pacing and yelling and hissing all about the place.

“And then she says ‘I _ know _ ’ and ‘I’m going to _ sleep, _ call the _ angel. _’”

“Mmhmm,” Aziraphale hummed, turning a page. He sincerely doubted Anathema had spoken to Crowley that way.

Crowley tilted his head to look at Aziraphale’s face, and frowned when his eyes met the cover of an old book of poetry.

“Angel, are you even listening?”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale poked his head up from behind the book, peering at Crowley through his reading glasses.

“Angel, this is serious.”

Aziraphale sighed and set his book aside, then pulled his glasses off, folded them, and tucked them delicately in his pocket.

“My dear. I really don’t know what to tell you. If you don’t want to be friends with the young occultist, it sounds like she’s agreeable to giving you what you want.”

Crowley moaned and slumped onto the other side of the couch. He snatched the tartan blanket that had been draped over the back and wrapped it tightly around his shoulders.

“Crowley?”

The demon didn’t look at him. Aziraphale sighed again.

“Listen, I know how you can… _ get _ like this sometimes, but really, what’s-”

“For Hell’s sake, Aziraphale, you’re supposed to be the _angel._ _You’re _supposed to be the one with feelings and empathy and… and… and I don’t know what else. But you’re supposed to care.”

“But I _ do _care, Crowley,” Aziraphale pointed out calmly.

“Oh, you do, eh? How many of them have you abandoned? Hmm? How many lives did you ruin when you were supposed to be the good guy?”

Ruffled, Aziraphale sat up straighter and shot Crowley a look. “I think I’ve had enough of this conversation,” he said.

“And better yet,” Crowley continued, unphased, “how many of them have to die on you before you can listen and understand how hard this is for me?”

At that, Aziraphale stood up from the couch and glared dangerously at Crowley.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Now.”

Crowley stayed where he was. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t think I could be more clear,” the angel responded evenly. “Get out of my bookshop.”

The demon’s eyes went wide behind his sunglasses as he watched the angel’s gaze smolder. “Aziraphale… C’mon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Aziraphale said, gesturing toward the door.

Dumbstruck, Crowley looked toward the front of the shop, and then back at the angel. He felt a hot anger riling up in his chest. “Fine. _ Fine. _ Just proves my damn point.” He hissed. He tossed the blanket aside and stalked toward the exit. “You know, it’s almost hilarious that you’re kicking me out now when I’ve _ always been there for you.” _

Aziraphale followed at a distance behind him, determined to shoo him out. 

“You’re as shit at being an angel as I am at being a demon. You’re supposed to be this embodiment of goodness, but all you do is eat your _ fancy foods _ and read you _ precious books _ and not care about _ anyone but yourself. _”

He spat out the last syllables and turned to leave. He was reaching for the door when a book sailed past his head and crashed into the wall. Astonished, he spun around and looked at the angel, who was standing in the middle of the room, face flushed and eyes red. His hand was still raised from having thrown the book, and, embarrassed, he quickly brought it down behind his back.

“D-did you just throw a _ book _at me?”

“Well, more _ near _ you.” Aziraphale looked down at his feet. “I seem to have missed.” He looked back up at Crowley. His tear-reddened eyes made the blue irises stand out hauntingly. “You’re being incredibly cruel to me right now.”

Aziraphale looked gutted, and Crowley felt a pit forming in his stomach.

“And you’re _ lying _ ,” the angel continued. “You _ haven’t _ always been there for me.”

Tears started falling down his face. Crowley took a step forward, reaching out a hand and speaking gently. “Angel, listen…”

“_ No _ , Crowley.” He was crying harder now, and Crowley's feet halted like he was trapped wet cement. “ _ You _ listen to _ me _ . You do _ not _get to talk to me like that. Ever.”

The demon nodded, willing to agree to or say anything that would make Aziraphale stop sobbing.

“You need to sort this out with Anathema. On your own. Like I had to do when you weren’t speaking to me.” Aziraphale took in a shuddering breath. “Like when I had to find out that Oscar had died so horribly, and I had _ no one _ to go to.”

The pit in Crowley’s stomach imploded. He felt like he’d be punched in the gut so hard he couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, he realized he was crying too.

“Azriaphale, please, I’m sorr-”

But Aziraphale held up a hand to silence him and returned his glare to the floor.

“Get out, Crowley.”

* * *

It was the closest the Bentley had come to actually mowing down a sidewalk full of pedestrians. The demon was unhinged and raging and felt like he wanted to tear all the stupid skin off his stupid body. 

He wanted to hurt something. 

The Bentley roared up to his building and skidded to a stop that should have ejected the demon through the windshield. With a single-minded purpose, Crowley stalked into the building, into his flat, and then into the plant room. He grabbed for the first pot within reach, and hurled it at the wall where it shattered, spilling the bruised fern onto the floor.

The rest of the greenery was too terrified to even tremble as his gaze — fully yellow as his irises had blown out to cover both of his eyes completely — lingered over them predatorily. 

“The next one of you to let me do something that that _ bloody fucking stupid _ again is going to make your entire _ species _ regret it,” he snarled, spit flying like venom past his lips.

He thundered to his bedroom, miracled on his pajamas, and snaked under the covers, where he glared angrily at the ceiling until he’d settled enough that he wasn’t at risk of bursting into flames.

He slept for a week.

* * *

The following Saturday, Anathema got a text. 

_ Can you come over? _

It was from Crowley.

She forced herself not to respond immediately.

_ Sure? I can take the next train into London. I don’t think I have your address, though. _

A moment after she hit send, she was in Crowley’s flat. She wobbled unsteadily.

“Oor, you can just teleport me here. Cool.” She looked a little miffed.

“Figured this’d be faster.”

“Crowley, I could’ve been with someone. What if I’d been checking out at the grocery store and I just vanished in front of the cashier?” she asked with an annoyed frown. “Or what if I’d been at a restaurant, and now they think I’ve dined-n-dashed?”

“Were you?”

“...No.”

Anathema waited, but Crowley didn’t so much as smirk.

This was unnervingly serious.

“Listen, Book Girl, I need some help…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The angel’s… upset with me.” 

A protectiveness flared up in the witch as her eyes narrowed.

“What did you do?” One didn’t spend months visiting Aziraphale at his bookshop without picking up some of his masterful facial expressions, honed to perfection over millennia of encouraging humans to do the right thing. Particularly useful in this conversation was the ‘judgmental pout’. As his stomach twisted guilty, Crowley had to admit: Anathema was nailing it.

“I said some… things. Some not-nice things. Things I didn’t mean.” He looked ashamed. “And I guess I did something pretty awful about 100 years ago…”

“The Nazi thing?”

“Bit before that.” He shifted, looking down at his feet. “I abandoned him. When he needed me. I’d been angry with him.” He sighed. “Wasn’t an excuse.”

Anathema finally took stock of her surroundings. The flat was sparse and modern and all hard edges and sharp angles.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen your place before,” she said, looking around.

Crowley blinked and followed her gaze around the room. “Guess I don’t come here much. Just to sleep sometimes. And water my plants.”

When her eyes landed on the Mona Lisa sketch, they went wide.

Crowley cleared his throat.

“D’you want the tour?”

Later, seated on a firm, black leather couch, Crowley crossed his legs and fidgeted with the hem of his pants.

“So… ‘bout Aziraphale. What do you think I should do?”

“Well… apologize, I guess. And make an honest effort to not do whatever you did again.”

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me…”

“Crowley, you’ve known him longer than anyone. You know that’s not true.”

Crowley didn’t look convinced.

“What has he said when you’ve tried to reach out?”

Crowley wrung his hands. “I haven’t yet. I came back here after it happened, took a nap, texted you.”

“Was this just today?”

“‘Bout a week ago.”

“You took a _ week-long _ nap?”

Crowley shrugged. “Sure, why not?” He studied her face closely. “Maybe you should give it a go. You look exhausted.”

Embarrassed, the witch turned away. “Yeah, well… been dealing with _ stuff _I guess.” She didn’t bother hiding the bitterness that tinged the words.

Crowley sighed sadly. “Listen. Book Girl.” He fixed his gaze on a spot on the floor between them. “I’ve been a knob. To everyone. To you, to Aziraphale… I’m just…” He looked at her sadly, two slivers of yellow peeking above his sunglasses. “It’s… hard. On me. Living on this planet, I mean. I’ve gone to bed for decades just because I could and woken up to find out someone I’d known had died while I was asleep. Me and the angel… we’re not always there for the humans we know. Sometimes because we couldn’t be. Because we had to keep up appearances in Heaven or Hell.” Crowley grimaced. “Sometimes it was just dangerous. Or we were just careless. Sometimes one party or the other would just… move on. And it never matters in the end because I’m the one that has to live with it forever.”

Anathema stared at him for a long time, and he started to shift uncomfortably. Then she finally spoke.

“That’s awful, Crowley. I can’t even imagine how hard it would be to deal with that. Especially after 6000 years and only having one other person that really gets it. And now that person’s mad at you.”

He looked down at his feet. “Thanks. You know…” He chuckled sadly. “I think that’s actually what I needed.”

Anathema reached out gently and touched his arm.

“Why don’t you send me back home so you can go talk to Aziraphale.”

He shook his head and pushed his glasses back up over his eyes.

“I’ll drive you. I need to rehearse what I’m gonna say.”

A couple of hours later, Crowley strode up to the bookshop door. In his hand was a box of chocolates. He remembered making this same walk with the same candies over 200 years ago when Aziraphale first opened his shop. The angel had been looking forward to that moment for so long, that Crowley knew he’d need to do something to commemorate the day.

His steps faltered a bit as he was pulled out of the memory. He stood in front of the building and collected himself before gingerly pushing open the door so as not to disturb the bell that hung over it. He poked his head inside.

“Aziraphale?” he called out quietly.

No answer. Aziraphale wasn’t at his desk and the shop was empty of customers, but he could sense the angel’s presence.

_ Must be in the back. _

Crowley walked all the way in, stepping quietly around tables and shelves piled high with books, and peeked his head around the corner to the back room. The angel was sitting on the couch where he’d been last week, reading quietly. A mug of tea steamed on the end table next to him.

“Uh… hi,” Crowley said timidly.

“Hello, dear,” Aziraphale responded curtly without looking up.

“Not busy in the shop today?”

“We’re closed.”

Aziraphale turned a page, keeping his eyes trained on what he was reading.

“But the door was open.”

“It always opens for you.”

“Oh…”

Crowley shifted uncomfortably and looked down at his hands. “Brought you something.”

Aziraphale looked up to see him holding up a box of chocolates.

“Oh? What’s the occasion?”

“Erm… I guess the occasion is I was an arse, but your door still opens for me. Hurrah.” 

Aziraphale’s face was flat and expressionless. Crowley winced.

“Is that right?” the angel asked testily.

“And, erg… ehm… I guess we’re also celebrating the first time in the history of existence that a demon comes to an angel with chocolates to beg for forgiveness.” He hoped that if he managed to ignore the shamefaced blush that was burning at his cheeks that it would go away.

“And you’re apologizing for what, exactly?”

Aziraphale wasn’t going to make this easy.

“Well… for… for yelling at you. For saying those awful things.” He walked toward the couch and carefully knelt down in front of Aziraphale. He placed the chocolates next to the angel, delicately took the book from his hands and set it next to the box, and then took both of Aziraphale’s hands in his. “I called you a shit angel who didn’t care about the humans. I said that, even though I know it’s not true, just to hurt you.” He released one of Aziraphale’s hands for a moment, just to take his glasses off and set them aside, before squeezing it tightly again.

His yellow eyes met Aziraphale’s blue ones.

“And I wasn’t there for you when you really needed me. I think that’s what’s eating me up the most.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were misting slightly. He pulled one of his hands free to cup Crowley’s cheek and smiled a smile so beatific that Crowley’s mind went completely blank. For a brief moment, he thought of Heaven. 

“Oh, my dear. I do appreciate the apology, and I want you to know all is forgiven.” He continued to smile, and Crowley prayed he’d never stop. "I also want you to know that I'm sorry, too. You've been struggling these last few weeks and I haven't done anything to make it easier on you. I promise that won't ever happen again."

Crowley felt himself leaning into Aziraphale's palm. He nearly whined when the hand pulled away.

“Now, what do you think your side would say to you about this?” the angel asked as he gestured at the scene: Crowley kneeling at Aziraphale’s feet, Aziraphale smiling lovingly, a box of chocolates just to the side.

Crowley smiled back. “_ You’re _my side, you idiot. How many times do I have to tell you?”

Aziraphale hummed happily and placed a soft, lingering kiss on Crowley’s forehead. Crowley felt his throat close. There was a pounding in his chest. He was quite certain he could freeze time just like this and happily never leave the shop, never stop feeling the warmth of the angel's lips pressed against his skin.

When Aziraphale pulled away, his eyes were half-lidded, like he’d just awoken from a pleasant dream.

“You can tell me as many times as you wish, dear. I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! The final chapter is just going to be a short epilogue.


	7. Epilogue

_ **London, 1968** _

One year after Aziraphale gave him the Holy Water, Crowley risked approaching the angel with another request.

“You’d be in and out. Would hardly take any time at all.”

They were sitting in a restaurant in Soho, a bright, winter sun blazing outside on the oddly clear day. A cup of espresso sat in front of the demon, long cold and largely untouched. A gentle _ clink _ sounded as Aziraphale set his fork down on his plate to primly dab at the corners of his mouth with his napkin _ . _

“No,” he responded sternly after swallowing a bite of tiramisu.

“Come _ on _, angel,” Crowley whined.

“Crowley, I am _ not _ going to tempt the _ Pope _.” He whispered through clenched teeth.

“Well there’s no way _ I’d _be able to get into the Vatican-”

“Exactly!” he cried. “Neither of us are going!” Aziraphale’s eyes glanced upward nervously, and he lowered his voice again. “We should not be having this conversation.”  
“Besides,” Crowley continued, unphased, “it’s not even tempting! You’d be using _divine intervention_ to set the record straight about a _saint_! A pope slandered her name in the place. You’re just going to help them” -- he waved his hand through the air -- “fix the mistake.”

“_ No _.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley leaned forward in his seat. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“Crowley…”

“Please. Angel.” The way the afternoon light was hitting Crowley’s face, Aziraphale could make out the wide, bright yellows of his eyes shining through the dark glasses. “This has been bothering me for almost 1400 years now. It’s not fair what they did. I want to fix it, but I need help.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes… then made a noise that sounded like faintly like acquiescence.

Crowley tilted his head. “So… you’ll do it?”

Aziraphale sighed and gave a stiff nod.

The demon’s smile slowly spread, white and sharp, across his face. Ignoring the angel’s protest, he snatched the fork off Aziraphale’s plate and swiped a bite of his dessert.

“Thanks, angel,” he said with a wink, pushing himself up from the chair and tossing a few large bills down onto the table. “I owe you one.”

Shortly thereafter, the Catholic Church, at least in any official capacity, stopped referring to Saint Mary Magdalene as the “penitent sinner.” Crowley was able to confirm it himself in a copy of the 1969 _ Calendarium Romanum _that Aziraphale had managed to secure on his behalf. Crowley couldn’t touch it without searing his hand -- like grabbing a hot pan out of the oven without mitts -- so the angel had delicately flipped to the page, and pointed at the section with the small, Latin text that Crowley himself had transcribed.

Crowley beamed.

“Look at that, angel! My Latin’s not too shabby after all these years.” He leaned in closer, eyes scanning the page. “I think she’d be happy with this.”

Aziraphale smiled and hummed in agreement.


End file.
